When the Morning Light Has Come
by Arianwen P.F. Everett
Summary: Commander Charles Tucker III is unable to sleep after the events of E2
1. Default Chapter

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek Enterprise. This story is just a labor of love, with no  
intention of providing financial gain to the authoress.  
  
Note: This story takes place the night of the final scene in E2, and is rife with Season 3  
Spoilers, so be warned!  
  
When the Morning Light Has Come  
  
Part 1  
  
By Arianwen P.F. Everett  
  
Commander Charles Tucker III shifted in his bed, the ravages of an old dream tearing at his subconscious. This time, however, as the searing wave of the Xindi weapon drew closer to his unawares little sister, he suddenly heard another voice call out from behind him.  
  
"Aunt Elizabeth! Aunt Elizabeth! RUN!!!"  
  
Jerking awake, Trip sat up in bed, sweat pouring down his brow. He hadn't had the dream of his sister's death in four months, but it didn't take a genius to understand Lorian's presence there now. Lorian was just as gone as Lizzie, only according to the sensor data that backed up the captain's hypothesis, the second Enterprise hadn't even entered the vortex, because it had never existed in the first place. In short, his son had never been born, never lived the 113 years that he were supposed to have been allotted to him in the past, and never boarded the very Enterprise where Trip Tucker now sat, trying to make sense of it all.  
  
Odd how the first thing Trip could think of was T'Pol and their neuropressure sessions. Checking the small chronometer by his bed, he considered going to her quarters. It wasn't like she was getting any sleep these days anyways, with whatever her big secret was, and perhaps if he apologized for their fight yesterday, they could talk. Ofcourse their fight really wasn't his fault, but like his Daddy always said "Where women are concerned it's ALWAYS your fault. Get used to it." With T'Pol that was doubly true, but his truth was, Trip no longer cared to be right, so long as T'Pol was happy... although she'd never admit to happiness.  
  
But T'Pol probably wouldn't be open to discussing this, and Trip didn't want to further burden her. Whatever she was going through was obviously hard enough to handle, and if she was feeling anything close to what he was at this moment, keeping herself together through a long conversation might not be possible. And keeping it together was the most important thing to T'Pol, and Vulcans in general, from what Trip had observed of their species.  
  
His next thought was to write a letter to his parents. Even knowing that they would not receive it for months, at Enterprise's current distance from Earth, just writing it would help. It would remind him that he was not alone, that he had people who loved him back home. But then another thought occurred to him and he knew he couldn't write his parents about this. He probably would never tell them, or if he did it would be years from now. They were still in shock and grief over loosing their only daughter. How could he even think of putting on them the loss of their grandson as well? He couldn't.  
  
It was then that Trip realized he hadn't even thought of going to Jonathan, but with his impending meeting with the Xindi council in a few days, Jonathan Archer had far bigger fish to fry, and he was frying them for Trip and the rest of the 18 billion Humans alive in the galaxy. That man was destined for greatness, and sometimes the friends of those destined for greatness had to put destiny above their own needs.  
  
Which left him with one alternative, Phlox. The Denobulan had a decent grasp of human psychiatry and some even more decent sedatives if that didn't work. When Trip had first learned about Lizzie's demise and his nightmares had begun, it was Phlox whose professional help he'd sought out. Despite his unorthodox methods and annoyingly chipper attitude, Trip had to admit that Phlox was a damn good Doc and the crew of Enterprise was lucky to have him onboard. Even T'Pol relied on his council and when T'Pol put faith in you that meant something.  
  
That thought brought with it a sudden, hot, wave of shame, guilt, and frustration. Lorian was his son. Three times his age or not, logic be damned, the primal part of Charles Tucker III felt in his gut that it was supposed to have been his job to protect him and his mother. The former he had lost to a temporal paradox. The latter seemed to be slipping farther and farther away from him every waking moment, and she refused to explain why or even give him a chance to pull her back. She had faith in him, but not enough to tell him what was happening to her, and with his failure to save their son, Trip had to wonder if she would loose that faith. He knew in her place, he would.  
  
Getting out of bed, a look of angry determination molded on his face, Trip dressed quickly and headed to Sickbay at an urgent pace, trying to loose his demons along the way.  
  
It didn't work, in fact they jumped him the minute he entered Sickbay and he saw T'Pol sitting solemnly on a bio-bed, deep in conversation with the Doc. Ofcourse the two stopped talking the moment he had entered, and a wave of anger filled him in regards to T'Pol's recent secrecy. An objective part of his conscious new his rage was irrational and tried to convince him that her talking to the Doctor was better than talking to no one, but that part could only watch from outside himself as the young Engineer approached the Vulcan woman who ruled his heart even if he didn't completely understand it.  
  
"I need to know what is going on with you!!! Why won't you talk to me?! We lost our son! I'm NOT loosing you, Damn it! You should be talking to me, not Phlox! ME!!!" Trip shouted at the top of his lungs, grabbing T'Pol savagely by the shoulders.  
  
T'Pol felt such overwhelming emotions at that moment. She remained rooted to the bio-bed, like a deer caught in headlights. Seeing T'Pol's shocked expression, Trip was brought back to reality and allowed Phlox to pry him away from the Vulcan woman.  
  
"Oh, man, I'm sorry T'Pol, truly sorry. I just..." Bedraggled with guilt, Trip backed away towards the exit. He'd just crossed a line and he feared the repercussions. T'Pol was just getting to trust humans and he attacks her like one of those marauding beasts most Vulcans think humans really are. He'd be lucky if he didn't spend some time in the brig.  
  
T'Pol took a deep breath before speaking. "It is alright, Commander. I am uninjured. You have obviously been deeply affected by Lorian's disappearance from our timeline, and..."  
  
"Lorian's death, T'Pol. His DEATH. He didn't just disappear, he died! OUR SON IS DEAD! Don't you get it, T'Pol? DEAD... And you're so bound up tight these days you'd rather talk to the Doc about it instead of me! Forget it, I'm out of here!" Trip shouted, this time, storming out of Sickbay.  
  
To Trip it didn't matter how Lorian had ceased to exist, the end result was that he had and Trip deeply mourned his passing. He had just started getting over Lizzie's death, getting to the point where he could see beauty and purpose in life once more, and now he felt back at square one. Everything seemed wrong.  
  
He couldn't remember when exactly he'd realized he was hyperventilating, but before he could reach the lift to take him back to his deck, he was propping himself up against a bulk head, half bent over, trying to catch his breath. He prayed no one would find him here, in this humiliating position, and at this time of night he might have been safe, if a certain Denobulan hadn't been chasing after him.  
  
"Calm down, Commander. Slowly breath. That's it. Slow down your breathing," Phlox instructed calmly. As his patient's breathing began to return to normal, Phlox helped Trip to a standing position. The Engineer tried to continue his journey to the turbolift, but the Denobulan physician gently pushed him back towards Sickbay.  
  
"No, T'Pol..."  
  
"Left Sickbay soon after you stormed out, Commander. She's probably already back in her quarters by now." The Doctor informed, cutting Trip off before he could protest further.  
  
Figuring that he had been going to Sickbay in the first place to talk to Phlox, perhaps following him now was indeed the right idea. He needed that sedative more than ever, and a non-pointed ear to air out his troubles wouldn't hurt either. 


	2. When the Morning Light Has Come: Part 2

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek Enterprise. This story is just a labor of love, with no  
intention of providing financial gain to the authoress.  
  
Note: This story takes place the night of the final scene in E2, and is rife with Season 3  
Spoilers, so be warned!  
  
When the Morning Light Has Come  
  
Part 2  
  
By Arianwen P.F. Everett  
  
Commander Tucker watched as his feet dangled several inches from the ground. Phlox had finished taking his vital readings and was now bringing them both a cup of hot tea, which according to the doctor had special properties that made a humanoid more relaxed and open without taking away their self-control. At first Trip had assumed it was just another one of the Doctor's placebos, but Phlox, on detecting his disbelief in the tea's abilities, was quite adamant that the herbs involved were safe and that they really worked on many species. Whether humans were among those remained to be seen.  
  
"I can't believe I grabbed T'Pol like that. It was WAY out of line. I don't know how I'm gonna make it up to her," Trip stated when he saw the Doctor emerge with two steaming mugs.  
  
"Oh, I wouldn't worry. Sub Commander T'Pol knows you wouldn't deliberately attack her," Phlox replied soothingly, handing one of the mugs to Trip.  
  
"I just can't get over how calm she is about what happened these last two days. I mean I know she's a Vulcan, but T'Pol's not like most Vulcans. She's a good person, and she doesn't look down on anyone aboard Enterprise. I mean, at first maybe, but she's really come around since Earth was attacked, maybe even a little before then, ya know?" Trip asked, running a hand through his hair in frustration. He took his first sip of the tea, and smiled slightly. It was zesty, as the Doctor had promised, but to Trip it was as close to mint tea as he ever remembered a substitute being.  
  
"Yes, Sub Commander T'Pol has seemed to 'loosen up', as you humans would say, but that doesn't mean she can completely divorce herself from her Vulcan heritage," Phlox responded, taking another sip of his tea.  
  
"I'm not asking T'Pol to give up bein' a Vulcan, but Lorian was our boy! Don't Vulcan mothers care for their children?!" Trip asked, now wondering if he had seen T'Pol's personal evolution as a transformation ultimately leading to humanity. If that was, then he had been deluding himself all along, and he had no right to be angry at her for not living up to his faulty expectations. Maybe Vulcan mothers didn't love their children, and who was he to judge if they didn't.  
  
"It's not that simple... but I believe you already know that, Mr. Tucker," the Doctor lightly scolded.  
  
"Yeah, I guess so, but I still don't get how she can remain so detached, especially around me. I thought we were getting closer with all those neuropressure sessions... I thought we were friends," Trip finished quickly, embarrassed by what he nearly confessed. Perhaps it would be best if he end this conversation, thanked Phlox for the tea, and got back to his quarters. He didn't want to become the Doctor's next paper on interspecies mating, should he let it slip about that time in T'Pol's quarters, when they had made love halfway through their neuropressure treatment. T'Pol would NEVER forgive him if he spilled the beans to Phlox.  
  
Having studied human facial expression and body language during his time aboard Enterprise and knowing the Commander and Sub Commander, Phlox could tell by what Trip had said that there was far more going on already between the two, but that it was currently unresolved or at least private. Still, he couldn't help but find the Commander's evasiveness slightly amusing. "Well Commander T'Pol is indeed a difficult individual to figure out. However, I don't doubt she considers you a friend."  
  
"Then why won't she talk to me?!" Trip shot back, wanting to believe the Doctor, but not yet convinced.  
  
Phlox struggled with what he could ethically tell Commander Tucker. As T'Pol's physician, he definitely couldn't mention her Trellium addiction, but perhaps he could get the brilliant young human thinking in the right direction. "Sometimes it's easier to talk to your Doctor than it is to a friend when something's troubling you. You don't want to burden the people you care for, and a Doctor is a detached, professional, ear, so to speak."  
  
At that, Trip laughed heartily, much to Phlox' confusion. "Oh, Doc, I'm sorry, but I don't think of you as being detached. I mean, you care too much about your patients. That's what makes you such a good Doc."  
  
"I don't see myself as being any more concerned than any of my colleagues," Phlox stated, considering what he'd just been told.  
  
"Nah, nah, you are. On Earth, very few doctors would take the time to just sit like this and listen to a guy's troubles over a cup of hot tea. To them it's like you're just a biological engine that needs repairin'. I love my engines, and sometimes I even talk to them, but I rarely ask them how they're feeling or what's going on in their personal lives. You treat everyone as if they were your friends, and I think most of the crew think of you that way. And I think your tea is kicking in," Trip answered, looking at his mug. Part of him liking this ability to be open with the Doc, another part nervous about what the Denobulan might unearth if he dug far enough.  
  
"I like to think of my crewmates as friends, as I believe T'Pol does, but unlike the Sub Commander, I must also view them with clinical detachment. Everyone on this ship's health is my responsibility," Phlox explained, hoping the Engineer would read between the lines.  
  
Tucker went silent for a moment, then a thought struck him and he was filled with breathtaking worry, and panic fueled his next words. "Wait, are you saying that T'Pol's recent antsyness is part of some medical condition?! What is it? Is she okay?"  
  
"Commander! You know I can't tell you that! Sub Commander T'Pol's medical information is just as privileged as your own!" Phlox snapped with what he hoped was a fair imitation of disapproval and chastisement. Still, inside, he thanked the Great Guardian of the Universe for gifting Commander Charles Tucker III with such a swift mind.  
  
Bowing his head in contrition, Trip nodded before putting down his cup of tea. Now that he had a direction, it was time to get back on that road and find what he was looking for.  
  
"Thanks Doc for the tea and the chattin'. I'm going to call it a night," Trip finally said, feeling better than he had in days.  
  
"Yes, a good nights rest is often helpful in handling stress... Oh, I spoke with Captain Archer a few hours ago, and he told me that he planned to hold a memorial for the second Enterprise' crew later on this week, after he meets with the Xindi Council. It seems you are not alone in having a hard time dealing with their... demise. So far I've had 12 other people come into Sickbay this evening, all having trouble sleeping due to worry about their descendents. So many questions. Do you think they still exist in another reality? Is there any chance that they could still be born if I wind up with the same mate in this reality? If they did die, do you think their souls made it to heaven, even though they were never really born?"  
  
"It's funny you mentioned that. Tonight's dream, the one that brought me here, it was the same dream I have about Lizzie dying, only Lorian was there, calling out to her with me. I wonder if that could mean they are watching out for each other, ya know, in the afterlife?" Trip asked shyly, needing reassurance. The idea he'd just proposed gave him comfort, but it also sounded pedantic and naïve. T'Pol would probably rip it to shreds with her logic. Funny how everything in his life always seemed to come back to T'Pol these days.  
  
"As a Denobulan, I'm not sure I can answer that. If I understand your people's concept of 'heaven', as a place where the good are granted rest free from mortal cares, then I am sure your sister and your son are both there now," Phlox answered diplomatically.  
  
Denobulans didn't place that much emphasis on an afterlife. In their view, a soul's life experience was so bound to the laws of reality in this life that they would never figure out that they were dead and would create an eternal existence that would proportionately reflect their lives. There was no reward or punishment element to death in Denobulan culture, so promising Mr. Tucker a glorious eternity for his deceased loved ones would be unethical, and knowing the young man before him, unwanted if the words were not a sincere expression.  
  
"Thanks Doc," Trip replied, deeply touched by the Doctor's words. He knew Phlox didn't hold his beliefs, but wrapped inside his words was the opinion that his son and his sister had been good people, worthy of heaven, even if Phlox didn't believe in the place. Taking a deep breath, Trip moved towards the Denobulan and grasped his hand in a firm, handshake. Then turning, he left Sickbay and headed towards T'Pol's quarters.  
  
Despite the hour, Trip could feel in his bones that they had to talk now, and that if they didn't, all that they had built over the past three years, and all that still could be, might be damaged beyond repair. 


	3. When the Morning Light Has Come: Part 3

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek Enterprise. This story is just a labor of love, with no

intention of providing financial gain to the authoress.

Note: This story takes place the night of the final scene in E2, and is rife with Season 3  
Spoilers, so be warned! Also, I know this part has been over 2 years in the writing,

but I got sidetracked since then. So sue me.

**When the Morning Light Has Come**

Part 3

By Arianwen P.F. Everett

"Tell my parents… I'll see them soon," T'Pol could still hear Lorian's last words in her mind. Illogical. The man who had uttered them had never existed, so mourning him, even in the privacy of her own meditation, the only place Vulcan culture permitted any display of grief, was illogical. And yet, she mourned.

In her imagination, which with her emotions had become stronger these past few months as a result of her Trellium D experimentation, she could envision a baby Lorian, lying in his crib, his bright, bluish-green eyes, staring up at her in awe, as babies, both Vulcan and Human inevitably did with their mothers. The mental fiction made her heart race with happiness, and then, almost as instantly, brought her crashing sorrow, as she knew she would never know that joy in this reality. She also knew that the data from the second Enterprise was still available in Enterprise's computer. Downloading real baby pictures, which Lorian had briefly mentioned were numerous due to his father's irrational obsession with visually recording his son's life for the fourteen years he'd been in it, was completely within the realm of possibility. She could watch Lorian grow into a teenager, and many other photographs taken by other clans within the generational crews' families would undoubtedly fill in the 99 year gap between the other Trip's death and Lorian's appearance a few days ago. Even before coming to Enterprise, she'd born witness to the human fervor to document their lives then pass around photographs among friends and colleagues.

To the Vulcan mind, it was extreme narcissism, but that narcissism had placed her here, with the possibility of connecting with the child she had only met as a middle-aged man a few days ago, and at the same time, cause her excruciating pain, her logic unable to protect her from in her Trellium-damaged brain. She was parted from Lorian by death, just as Trip had violently insisted in the medical bay, and despite the illogic of it, she was helpless to stop herself from rising from her meditation pillows, approach her computer, and downloading Lorian's files from Enterprises' databanks onto a pad.

However, before she could review them, her door chirped, and T'Pol instantly knew who was waiting on the other side. A lingering worry began in the back of her mind about just how she could be so sure it was Commander Tucker that was waiting to speak with her behind the door that separated them. Logically, the there was a 93.875 probability that her visitor was Trip, due to the late hour, her uninviting reputation with the crew, and recent events over the past few days. Still, she knew logic didn't allow for this level of certainty. Only one thing in Vulcan experience did, and examining that possibility might take her to a place she couldn't afford to go right now, in the middle of fighting a war to protect the lives and continued existence of several sentient species. Filing it away, she closed her eyes briefly, pulling up as much of her emotional shielding as she could still muster, and called out "Enter."

As Trip steped over the treshold to T'Pol's quarters, all his previous thoughts ceased. He had been memorizing a speech, expressing point by point how he felt, why he needed her to trust him with whatever medical problem she was afflicted with, why she could not logically blame Phlox, as he had not delivered any information to him, nor confirmed any suspicions in a direct manor, and lastly, and most importantly, why they needed to hang on together in light of Lorian's death and the absolute emotional hell-ride their time in the expanse was proving for both of them. But all that fell away when he looked into her brown eyes and saw the confusion and pain she was hiding, even beyond her Vulcan mask. He didn't know how the heck he knew what she was feeling, but he did in this moment, alone and unguarded, and his mind went blank, not knowing how to address all that he needed to tell her.

"You wish to speak with me?" T'Pol stated, realizing that Trip had not said anything upon entering her quarters, and was just standing there, silently.

"I'm sorry. I was out of line in Sickbay. If you want to report me to Captain Archer, go ahead…"

"You are a man of strong emotion and currently under extreme, inordinate amounts of stress. Your outburst caused no permanent harm, and loosing your services to a minor infraction of Star Fleet protocol could endanger the success of our mission. Under those circumstances, it would be illogical to report what transpired in the medical bay." T'Pol stated, beginning to regain her calm. They were communicating about events and procedure, both safe and stabilizing subjects.

"Illogical or not… ah hell, I've gotta be honest here, none of this polite pussyfooting we're both very good at. T'Pol, I know you're not feelin' so hot, medically I mean. I don't know anything specific, none of the how's or why's or even what's wrong with you. Phlox wouldn't say a peep on the subject, and I respect that, but I need you to know I understand what it's like to be ill, and I want to be there for ya, to help you get well. I need to be there for you as surely as I need food or oxygen. Please quit shuttin' me out," Trip begged, completely abandoning any semblance of pride. They couldn't afford it. If he had to get anything across to her, it was that.

T'Pol thought for a second before she spoke. Illness. She could admit to illness without supplying her own weakness with Trellium D, and truth be told, she wanted and needed support in dealing with the fall out from her shameful lack of control. "Your… deduction is correct. I have suffered neurological damage due to my exposure to Trellium D these past few months, and as a result, my emotional control has been compromised. I did not wish to burden you with this… unfortunate situation."

Releasing the breath he'd been holding, Trip took several steps towards T'Pol, then tentatively took one of her hands in his. Remarkably, she did not pull it back. "I would much rather have been burdened than running around, worrying, 24/7, like I've been doing. You have no idea how scared I've been for ya. You were slipping away, right in front of my eyes, not even permitting me to try and help you, the way you helped me right after Lizzie died. As bad as it may seem, as bad as it may be, this 'burden' is a blessing. It means there's hope for both of us to get through this war, together."

"Blessing," T'Pol repeated the word, almost sounding as if she didn't understand its meaning. The truth was she didn't understand how Trip could view what was happening to her, or to himself, as a blessing. If Jonathan Archer were successful, Degra might be reasoned with in a few days. The war might end for Earth without further bloodshed. Those were blessings. Looking at the pad she still held in her right hand, the object that held so much torture for her if she studied it, but which a part of her still felt fatalistically bound to do, she couldn't see any blessings for them in the near future.

Trip's eyes followed hers to the pad. Whatever was tuning him into her feelings tonight, that simple object was giving him one hell of a red alert klaxon. It was the epitome of the worst her illness represented; it was painful emotions beyond the ability to cope or recover. Somehow Trip knew all this, but he also knew that he'd come here tonight, to be with her, to offer her support. Whatever data was on that pad, they could handle it, together. The pain would be bearable, even if he had to feed her, dress her, bathe her, and get her to the bridge daily, he would do it. They would bear it together, and they would move on. Stealing himself before jumping into the breech, he took a deep breath.

"So, what's on the pad?"


End file.
